


a morning where the fields are painted gold

by Felilla



Series: Bloom {+ Extras} [1]
Category: Cartoon Therapy (Web Series), Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst, Anxious Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Artist Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Astronomer Logic | Logan Sanders, Barista Creativity | Roman Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus Sanders is a Good Brother, Deaf Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Depressed Morality | Patton Sanders, Disabled Morality | Patton Sanders, Friends With Benefits, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Kinda, Logan Has PTSD, M/M, Major Original Character(s), Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Photographer Morality | Patton Sanders, Queerplatonic Relationships, Roman Has PTSD, Romance, Single Parent Morality | Patton Sanders, Slow Burn, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Tattoo Artist Dark Creativity | Remus Sanders, Teacher Anxiety | Virgil Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23553106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felilla/pseuds/Felilla
Summary: The world may take you in a million different directions to find the same destination.Or…The story of four men and how they fell in love.Patton Rothschild is a single father.Roman Anakawan is a struggling artist.Virgil Dowling is a private tutor.Logan Morton is a prodigal astronomer.Somehow, someway, they are deeply entwined.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Original Character(s), Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Original Character(s), Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Original Character(s), Morality | Patton Sanders & Dr. Emile Picani, Morality | Patton Sanders & Original Character(s)
Series: Bloom {+ Extras} [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695202
Comments: 28
Kudos: 81





	1. from "better homes and garden" magazines

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to my disaster 2 AM fever-dreamt LAMP romance story with lots of angst, fluff, and other stuff. Otherwise known as my Quarantine fic.
> 
> Just to get this out of the way, there is quite a bit of OCs in this story. They are either from the characters' pasts or they are involved in their family lives (case in point, Patton's three adopted daughters). If you don't like that, that's fine. Just be warned.
> 
> Also! Remus and Deceit {Dee} are in a QPR relationship. I marked it as / because QPRs are very different from friendships and Remus is also aroflux (Dee is alloromantic) so sometimes he likes romantic stuff.
> 
> Okay. I think that's it. Onto the story...
> 
> TW: deafness, limping, mentions of past homophobia, implied panic attacks

The house was smaller than Virgil expected. It wasn’t tiny, by any means, but over the years, Virgil had grown used to sprawling mansions with obnoxious architecture. This house looked like a… House. Maybe with a bit of a cottagey feel (the flowers in the window boxes definitely added to that aesthetic}. But there wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about it.

In fact, aside from the pale green color of its walls, it looked nearly identical to the rows of house beside it on the street.

He double checked the address on the email just to be sure. It  _ was  _ the right place. Shoving his phone back into his pocket, he sighed and pushed open the tiny picket fence gate. Seriously? A picket fence? Virgil wondered what kind of boring, nuclear family he’d get saddled with this time. The snooty kind that liked to treat him like a servant? Or the less snooty kind that liked to pretend he and their “problem” child didn’t exist?

Small house or not, he knew the common trends among his employers.

Virgil climbed the porch steps two at a time, pausing briefly to look at the mint colored mailbox by the door. The name  _ Rothschild _ was painted across it, seemingly by hand, in black. He took a moment to adjust the collar of his purple button-up shirt and smooth down his black slacks. He double checked to make sure his tattoos were covered. When he thought he was ready, he rang the doorbell and braced himself for the introduction. The introduction was always the hardest part, explaining he was hard of hearing, that  _ no _ , it didn’t affect his work. To be on the safe side, he turned his hearing aids up a bit more.

Just in time for the door to open a crack to reveal… No one.

Virgil dropped his gaze slowly, blinking down at the young child staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. The little girl tilted her head. She was short, probably a little shorter than average for her age, which he guessed was around five or six. Her black hair was pulled up into two somewhat sloppy pigtails. “You’re not the pizza man,” she said, a furrow between her brows.

“No,” Virgil said, a little bewildered. Was this the girl he’d been tutoring? “I’m not.”

“Queenie,” a voice said from inside the house. They sounded a bit winded and exasperated. “How many times have I told you not to answer the door without me?”

The girl, Queenie, looked back, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. She was missing a couple of teeth. “Sorry, Papa. I thought it was the pizza man.”

The girl’s father laughed as a hand gripped the door frame. Slowly, the door swung open to reveal a man in his late twenties, early thirties. Whatever Virgil had been expecting his new employer to look like,  _ this _ wasn’t it. 

“I said we’re getting pizza for dinner, Queen,” Mr. Rothschild said, settling a hand on the girl’s head and ruffling it affectionately. He looked nothing like the little girl. Adopted? “You just had lunch.”

With that, he turned Queenie around and ushered her back into the house, saying something about talking to the not-pizza-man.

Usually, his employers were clean cut and groomed. Mr. Rothschild had a head of unruly brown curls and a light scruff on his face like he’d forgotten to shave that morning. Virgil’s employers wore business suits or, at the very least, what Virgil liked to call “country club casual”. Mr. Rothschild was wearing an oversized powder blue hoodie and pale pink skinny jeans. He was short and he was barefoot. A brown and white dog sat obediently by his leg, tail thumping merrily on the ground.

He was also, Virgil noticed with warming cheeks,  _ ridiculously handsome. _

Mr. Rothschild grinned (and hot damn was it a good smile, warm and friendly and irrationally cute) and Virgil felt a little weak in the knees.

“Sorry about that,” Mr. Rothschild said, his smile never faltering. It looked so genuine that Virgil couldn’t help but minutely smile back. “She gets a little excitable when the doorbell goes off.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil managed to say. He shuffled in place.

Mr. Rothschild startled a bit and chuckled. “Sorry, you must want to get down to business. Come in, come in. You can leave your shoes on the shoe rack.”

When Mr. Rothschild stepped aside, Virgil ducked into the house. It looked just as quaint on the inside as it did on the outside, if a little messier. He started to undo the laces of his dress shoes when the dog trotted over to him. Virgil stiffened, unsure what to do. Everyone had their own rules about their pets.

Mr. Rothschild seemed to notice. He laughed a bit. “She just wants to sniff you.”

Slowly, Virgil held out his hand. The dog sniffed it once, twice, and then turned and disappeared into the house. 

When Virgil straightened from untying his shoes, Mr. Rothschild was looking down at his phone. There was a small furrow between his eyebrows. It quickly abated after Virgil set his shoes next to a pair of red little kid sneakers on the rack. Mr. Rothschild shoved his phone into his back pocket.

He held out his hand. “Patton Rothschild,” he introduced himself, his smile returned. “You can just call me Patton though.”

Just Patton. It wasn’t often that Virgil’s employers let him call them by their first name. And usually, it was almost always the wife. “Virgil Dowling,” Virgil took the outstretched hand. “You can call me whatever you want, sir.”

“No,” Patton shook his head, not releasing Virgil’s hand. “No “sir”. Patton. Or Pat. I hate formalities.”

There was no hint of malice in Patton’s voice. If anything, No teasing either. Just genuine conversation. Patton gestured for Virgil to follow him into the house. Virgil noticed that there was a hobble to his step and that he occasionally reached out to grab pieces of furniture. To be polite, Virgil took the opportunity to get his bearings. He spotted a face watching him from the second story landing. It was Queenie, watching him with wide eyes. He gave a small wave.

They settled in the kitchen at a table that looked like it’d been through the ringer. The kitchen had nice amenities, but nothing high tech or super fancy. Virgil was starting to understand that this wasn’t going to be a typical job for him. The Rothschilds didn’t even seem to have a dining room.

As soon as they sat down, Virgil reached into his bag and retrieved his resume and recommendation papers. Patton hadn’t sat down yet. Instead, he limped over to the stove, grabbing the kettle on it. “Tea? Or coffee?” he asked before turning to fill the kettle.

“Um,” Virgil fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “Tea please?”

Patton nodded. After he started the kettle, he reached into the cabinet and took down a box of generic tea. He set it and a box of sugar on the counter along with two mismatched mugs before returning to the table.

“Do you prefer speaking or sign language?” Patton asked as he sat down. He signed the words along with his words.

Virgil balked. After a second, Patton’s freckled cheeks flushed a pale pink. “Oh gosh, sorry. I just noticed your hearing aid. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Oh. Virgil’s hand unconsciously went up to touch his aid. He shook his head a bit. “No, no, it’s fine,” he said. “Just not used to people noticing. And either is fine, thank you.”

Patton gave a small laugh, one that Virgil could barely hear. The kettle started to whistle and Virgil watched in silence as Patton fixed two cups of tea. He set one in front of Virgil before signing and saying, “Cream?”

It seemed more like muscle memory than him making a conscious effort to sign for Virgil. Virgil just shook his head. Patton smiled and sat back down. “I’m afraid I don’t know this works,” he said as he poured a disgusting amount of sugar into his own cup of tea. “When we lived in New York, Giselle went to a deaf school, but well, I’m sure you know there’s not anything like that around here.”

Yeah, Virgil knew that way too fucking well. It was a miracle he’d gotten through this town’s education system. Virgil took a slow sip of his tea before reaching for the new notebook he’d bought especially for this family. “How about you just tell me a little bit about Giselle and her issues?” he tried.

Patton’s smile immediately shifted into a deep frown. Virgil shrunk in on himself a bit, thrown off by the sudden change in atmosphere. “There’s nothing wrong with my daughter,” Patton said. He sounded ready to fight Virgil over that fact.

“I didn’t-” Virgil clenched the fabric of his pants. He took a small steadying breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply that there was. I just need to know what kind of accommodations she needs.”

“Oh. Oh, right,” Patton’s face smoothed out and he sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. Virgil noticed that he looked a little tired. “Sorry. I just- Nevermind. Giselle is partially deaf and has selective mutism and really bad social anxiety so don’t feel offended if she doesn’t start talking to you immediately.”

“I won’t,” Virgil said immediately. He was pretty used to kids being standoffish with him. He ran his finger up and down his pen, a nervous tick. “Can I ask why you moved out here if it was easier for Giselle in New York?”

Patton looked away, running a hand through his hair. “We just needed a change… I guess? Any other questions?”

Virgil didn’t push. Instead, he turned the situation back to what he  _ actually _ needed to know. “What's home life like here? Loud, busy? Quiet?”

Patton laughed out loud at that question and (after he was done flinching back from the sound) Virgil found that he liked the sound. It reminded him of how Roman’s dad laughed. Loud and warm and genuine. “Oh, it’s a nuthouse in here,” Patton said, looking out of the kitchen towards the hall. “It’s just me and the girls, so it can get a bit chaotic sometimes.”

No mom? Virgil wrote that down. Patton glanced down at the notebook before he shrugged. “I work from home. Anyway, tell me about yourself, Virgil.”

Virgil blinked. He was usually called Mr. Dowling. Just Virgil was kinda… Nice. He pushed his resume towards Patton. “Well, I graduated from the local university,” he explained, pausing briefly when he noticed that Patton hadn’t even touched the resume. “I have a masters in Early Childhood Education and I’m working on my PhD. I also have a bachelors in psychology. I usually either tutor children in specific courses or, in the case of Giselle, act as their primary teacher.”

“What made you want to become a private tutor?” Patton asked. He looked more invested in the conversation itself than the reason they were having it. “Why not just a normal teacher?”

Virgil chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s no way I can handle a class of more than maybe five kids at time,” he paused before throwing out his hands. “But I’m great with small groups, don’t worry.”

Fuck, he wasn’t really selling himself here. Patton just laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Nah, I get it. I’m at my wit’s end with three and I’m their father.”

Virgil relaxed a bit. Patton took the lull in conversation to actually look over the resume. He tilted his head. “Why’d you leave your last job?” he asked. “With the… Andersons?”

Virgil’s relaxation flew out of the window. He was kinda (okay,  _ really _ ) hoping that Patton wouldn’t ask that. He shuffled his socked feet against the tile of the Rothschilds’ kitchen floor. “Personal differences,” he said with a wince. 

Those differences being that Virgil was  _ gay _ . The Andersons had seen Virgil outside of work while he was on a date with his now ex-boyfriend. They fired him on the spot. And, being the petty homophobic assholes they were, decided to tell everyone in their circle about his “disgusting, sinful nature”. Which is why the Rothschilds had been a miracle. Even if they were super wealthy, though Virgil was questioning that, they still weren’t yet part of the country club gossip. Patton only knew the professional aspects of Virgil’s life.

That was how it was going to stay, if Virgil had anything to say about it.

When Virgil looked up, Patton’s expression was sympathetic. It almost looked like he  _ understood _ what Virgil meant. Which was ridiculous. There were a million different things Virgil could’ve meant based on his words.

But he still appreciated the look in Patton’s bright blue eyes. After a moment, Patton smiled. “Well, would you like to meet Giselle?” he asked.

Virgil smiled a bit and nodded. They stood, leaving the papers on the desk, and Patton led Virgil up the stairs. Patton moved slowly, but Virgil didn’t mind. They started towards a room at the end of the hall. Virgil heard the giggling before he saw the girls. When they stepped in front of the door, Virgil could see three girls all sitting in a circle. 

Queenie, the girl from the door, was whispering animatedly, her hands and fingers moving with the movements. Her sisters nodded with her story.

One of the other girls couldn’t have been more than three or four. She was trying to mimic her older sister’s hand movements with one hand, the other hand clutching a stuffed cat ferociously. Her pale blonde hair was cut boyishly short, but Patton had called them all his girls, so Virgil was relatively sure she was, in fact, a girl.

The oldest girl had a book on her lap, but she seemed more invested in her sister. Her hair was cloudy and in tightly coiled black ringlets, but it looked like most of it had been pulled into a ponytail tied with a big bow. She was probably about ten and, if Virgil had to guess, was probably Giselle. 

She noticed Virgil first, her smile falling as she stiffened. She stared at him with wide, dark eyes. Virgil stepped out of view.

“Wait here,” Patton said and Virgil nodded.

Patton went into the room and after some groaning from two parties, the two younger girls appeared at the door. Queenie was holding her little sister’s hand tightly. She peered up at Virgil. “Name’s Queenie,” she said and after a moment of hesitance, she made the sign for “queen” and the sign for the letter “e”. “If you’re mean to Giselle, I’ll break your kneecaps.”

“Queenie!” Patton shouted from inside the room. “Don’t say things like that.”

Queenie just shrugged.

“It’s okay, I’m nice,” Virgil assured Queenie. 

His gaze shifted to the other little girl. She stared up at him with bright blue eyes, still very, very different from Patton’s. The cat stuffed animal was tucked between her elbow. Her thumb was pressed firmly against her lips like she wanted to suck on it, but knew she wasn’t supposed to.

Virgil crouched down with a smile. “Hi, I’m Virgil,” he said. “I like your cat.”

The girl looked to her sister from confirmation and Queenie gave a nod. She grinned at Virgil, her mouth dotted with missing teeth. “This is Tumeric!” she said, holding out her stuffed animal. Virgil managed not to snicker at the weird name. “And I’m Wensdy!”

“Wednesday,” Queenie said, again signing out the word for “wednesday”. “She’s too little to say it right.”

“I said it right!” Wednesday protested.

“No, you didn’t,” Queenie rolled her eyes.

“Yes, I did!”

“Girls,” Patton appeared at the door, giving both of his younger daughters a stern look. “Don’t argue. Go play in your rooms please.”

“Is Giselle in broublel?” Wednesday asked with a tilt of her head.

“ _ Trouble _ ,” Queenie huffed and Virgil smiled softly. God, this girl seemed to have an attitude on her.

“No, honey,” Patton said, using his free hand to run a hand through Wednesday’s hair. Neither of them bothered fixing it when it “She’s not in trouble. Virgil just needs to meet her.”

Wednesday pouted and shifted in place before she looked up at Virgil. “Be nice, Mr. Virgil. Giselle don’t like the new place.”

“Stop telling him everything,” Queenie hissed before she turned away, taking her sister with her. “Papa told us to go play. Wanna build a block city?”

Wednesday’s attention shifted immediately as she excitedly began to bounce after Queenie. “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

They disappeared into a room only a couple doors down. Patton smiled at Virgil. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s fine,” Virgil said. And it  _ was _ . Virgil wouldn’t have become a private tutor for children if he didn’t like children.

“She should be fine to meet you now,” Patton said as he went back into the room.

Virgil followed after.

Giselle was standing now, huddled under what Virgil suspected was a weighted blanket. She still looked suspicious of him though and went to stand mostly behind Patton. Patton kept one hand on her back and she pressed against his side. She came up to about his chest, solidifying just how  _ short _ Patton was.

And adversely, how short Virgil was as well since he only had maybe an inch or two on Patton. He tried not to think about it.

“Hi,” Virgil signed. “My name’s Virgil.”

There was a slight flicker in Giselle’s eyes that might’ve been surprise, but her expression remained heavily guarded.

“Can you introduce yourself?” Patton asked, signing along with his words.

Giselle raised one hand before she shook her head and hid a bit more behind her dad. After a moment, she poked Patton in the leg. He looked down at her with a warm, patient smile. It made Virgil’s heart ache for his moms. Maybe he should call them later.

“You do it,” Giselle signed with small shaky hands.

Patton nodded before he signed. “This is G-I-S-E-L-L-E,” he signed before adding another sign, the word for ballerina. That was probably the sign they used for Giselle.

Giselle poked Patton again. “Tell him my favorite food is chocolate ice cream,” she signed before immediately dropping her gaze down to the floor.

Virgil hid his chuckle behind a cough. Patton’s shoulder hitched in what might’ve been a bit of laugh before he relayed the information.

“I love chocolate ice cream,” Virgil signed back to Giselle, careful not to look her in the eye. “My favorite food is pizza.”

“I love pizza! We are having it for dinner!” Giselle signed excitedly. She still wasn’t looking at Virgil, but he knew it was directed at him.

“Your sister thought I was the pizza man.”

“Queenie thinks everyone that comes to the door is the pizza man.”

Virgil noticed that she shuffled a bit out from behind Patton. Patton, for his part, looked every bit the proud father Virgil suspected he was. Slowly, so he wouldn’t startle her, Virgil sat down on the floor so he was more level with Giselle. She looked up at Patton before moving the tiniest bit closer.

The conversation was slowgoing, but eventually, Giselle joined him in sitting on the floor and Patton sat on the edge of the bed. She told Virgil all kinds of things and everytime she stopped herself and hunched in a bit, Patton settled a hand on her head and Virgil asked her to tell him more. It was the longest conversation Virgil had had in sign language in a long time. Eventually, she asked, seemingly out of nowhere. “Is purple your favorite color?”

Virgil looked down at his shirt. She was unlikely to gauge that fact from that alone. His eyes shifted to his socks and he noticed with embarrassment that he was wearing purple socks. He nodded. “One of them. It’s a pretty color.”

“Purple is amazing,” Giselle agreed.

“What’s your favorite color?” Virgil asked, though he could guess based on the overwhelming amount of yellow in her room.

To his surprise, she signed, “Rainbow! In New York, we had a rainbow flag outside our apartment. Papa keeps it in his room now. Don’t know why. I liked it outside.”

Virgil’s eyes shifted up to Patton, who was now bright red. The brunette scratched the back of his head with a small laugh. “Not everyone likes our rainbow flag, honey,” Patton signed as he spoke, the first spoken words to pass through the room since he told Virgil that Giselle liked chocolate ice cream.

Virgil could feel almost every tense muscle in his body relax. “Personal differences” weren’t likely to be an issue with this family, it seemed. Virgil smiled and signed to both father and daughter as he spoke. “I like rainbow flags,” he said. “So do my best friends.”

Patton’s shoulders dropped a bit at this, though Virgil suspected it was from relief. He gave Virgil another one of his warm smiles. “Well,” Patton said, a bit more loudly than Virgil expected, though he suspected it was for Giselle’s benefit. Giselle was probably more hard of hearing than Virgil. She looked up at her dad. “I think that Virgil needs to go now,” he signed to her.

To Virgil’s surprise, Giselle pouted. She ran her fingers over the denim of her jeans before signing. “Will he come back?”

“Yeah,” Patton signed before looking at Virgil. Virgil’s heart swelled. Did that mean what he thought it did? “I think he will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Some little notes for anyone wondering:
> 
> Patton is Jewish (additionally, Giselle is African American and Queenie is half Japanese). He is 26 years old (Giselle is 10, Queenie is 7, and Wednesday is 4).  
> Roman and Remus are Polynesian (neither of them have ever been outside of the US). They are both 25.  
> Virgil is Korean. He is also 25.  
> Logan is originally from Canada. He is 23.  
> Dee is 28 if you're wondering.
> 
> I think that's all for now. Feel free to follow me on my Tumblr @felilla. Bye!


	2. under pressure precious things can break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman is in love with his best friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really a TW, but there is a lot of pining in this chapter.
> 
> TW: a lot of cussing {Remus is in this chapter}. Remus being... Remus... Mentions of gore, lots of mentions of sex, implied/mentioned sexual content, chronic migraines, mentions of past fires, nightmare mentions... Just a lot of mentions.

Roman heard Virgil before he saw him. There was no sign of the door opening or footsteps. Just a loud, drawn out shouted, "FUCK YES!"

Roman smiled to himself. He shovelled another bite of ice cream into his mouth. Virgil came into the kitchen, his body outlined by the hallway light. “Hey,” Roman greeted at a volume he knew Virgil could hear, with or without hearing aids.

Virgil promptly startled, throwing a hand over his chest with a shout. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he exclaimed and it was too dark for Roman to know for sure, but he was ninety percent positive that Virgil was currently glaring at him. "What the  _ fuck _ , Ro?"

"I'm guessing the interview went well?" Roman asked, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. He grinned at Virgil, a shit-eating grin that Virgil definitely did not see.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” Virgil hissed as he reached to flick on the light. He paused, head tilted a bit. “You cool if I turn on the light?”

Roman waved his hand. Short answer, no. Long answer, also no. Roman knew that Virgil would leave the light of if he asked. He never once complained about accommodating Roman's needs. Even so, Roman just said, “I’m good.”

The light flickered on a second later and Roman managed to hide his wince by shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. The light hurt his eyes, sure, but chronic headaches were something Roman was used to. Or rather, something he  _ should _ be used to. One would think that after having them most of his life, he’d be able to handle a small one.

And the stress from his nightmare last night was definitely not helping anything. So maybe Roman would’ve preferred Virgil left the light off. But he knew that Virgil hated stumbling around in the dark.

Besides, he didn’t mind getting to see Virgil. His jet black hair was messier than it was when he left in the morning and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his purple button up to reveal the canvas of art on his arms. Roman noticed with bemusement that he was wearing purple socks, likely not an intentional choice. All at once, he looked nothing like the Virgil that Roman knew and  _ everything _ like the Virgil he knew.

Virgil watched him from the entrance, face tinged somewhere between amusement and concern. His dark eyes bottomless pools of emotion. Virgil wasn’t the most expressive man in the world, but his eyes, his eyes gave away everything. After a moment, Virgil sighed. “You’re gonna spoil your appetite,” he said before making his way over to the fridge.

“Thank,  _ mom _ ,” Roman teased, putting another scoop into his mouth, this one especially big for emphasis sake.

They both knew it wouldn't, in fact, spoil his appetite. Roman never quite understood the concept of a full stomach. If there was more to eat, he'd eat it. Remus and their dad were the same way so maybe it was a hereditary thing.

"Are Dee and Remus gonna be home tonight?" Virgil asked after pulling out a Sprite.

Roman shrugged. "No idea," he said. "Last I checked, they were still at the parlor. Guess Ree had a big inspiration for something.”

He wouldn’t be surprised if one of them came home with a new tattoo. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. It was worse before Dee came around, but even he couldn’t reign him in sometimes. According to Remus: “sometimes the paper’s not enough”.

Roman got that. Paper was one of his main mediums, of course, but sometimes he just had an itch to paint a piece of furniture or the walls or his face.

“Seriously though,” Roman redirected the conversation. “How’d the interview go?”

Virgil smiled slightly and Roman was a little thrown off when he saw the slight pinkness on his cheeks. “It went great,” Virgil said after a moment. “They’re actually  _ nice _ . Like even Patton’s nice.”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Patton?”

Virgil chuckled (or maybe it was a giggle? Roman wasn’t sure), “My employer. He’s like our age? Really short and soft and  _ nice _ . Fuck, Ro, he was too fucking nice.”

Soft?

“Got a crush, do we?” Roman asked, a little awkwardly.

Virgil didn’t answer, but the way he looked away with a faint upturn of his lips was more than enough confirmation for Roman. 

Roman tried to ignore the twist in his gut. He knew the emotion roiling under his skin. He knew it  _ well _ . Jealousy. It wasn’t an emotion that should belong to Roman, not in this context. Virgil didn’t belong to him, never had and never would. They were best friends and for now-  _ No _ , it would always be more than enough.

Besides, Roman had no room to talk. Most people knew exactly how Roman spent his late nights, when the inspiration wouldn’t strike or when the nightmares were a little too persistent. Realistically, he could wake Virgil up and talk to him and they could spend the night watching movies. Roman  _ knew _ that.

But it wasn’t enough.

Virgil’s gaze softened and for a brief, bewildered second, Roman wondered if Virgil had seen through his facade. The facade of a man  _ not _ in love with his best friend. He stepped forward and settled a hand on top of Roman’s head. Slowly, with practiced hands, he dragged his slender fingers through Roman’s long dark brown curls. Roman leaned into the touch. They’d always been tactile friends. That much had never changed.

“Maybe you should get some rest while I make dinner,” Virgil said.

The disappointment was suffocatingly heavy, but Roman managed a smile. “Nah,” he said. “I’m fine. Want some help?”

Virgil just rolled his eyes and pulled away. “I’d rather not have the kitchen burn down…” he looked back at Roman with a smirk. “Again.”

And just like that, any sour mood Roman had vanished. He jumped to his feet with an offended shout. “It was one pan, Virge,” he argued, momentarily looming over Virgil.

Virgil was not even remotely cowed, even if Roman had nearly five inches on him. “Yeah, a burning pan that you threw  _ oil _ on.”

“I thought it was water!”

“What kind of water is yellow?”

Roman sputtered as he started rinsing out his ice cream bowl. “Well, maybe I’m colorblind.”

“Well, that would be something,” Virgil gave him a pointed look. “A colorblind artist. Maybe I should become a musician. Join a rock band.”

“If it’s the kind rock you listen to, then being deaf shouldn’t be an issue.”

Virgil swatted his arm with a towel. Roman hit him back with another towel. They were still hitting each other with towels, shouting and laughing and running around the kitchen in circles when Dee and Remus got back home.

“Oh!” Remus exclaimed, his giddy voice cutting through Roman and Virgil’s towel fight. “I wanna join!”

“No!” Roman responded immediately. “The last time you hit me with a towel, I had a welt for a  _ week _ .”

Virgil snickered into his hand, earning himself another smack from Roman. Remus just stopped his feet with a low whine. “Not  _ fair _ . I want to hit Virgil too. What if I just hit Virgil and not you, Ro? Then can I? Please?”

Roman looked over at Virgil contemplatively and Virgil hit him again. Roman just laughed, shaking his head.

“I think we should definitely hit each other  _ harder _ ,” Dee said from the doorway, sarcasm dripping from his tone like venom. He stepped past Remus, stealing away the towels in Virgil and Roman’s hands.

Virgil just shrugged. “Well now that Dee’s here,  _ he _ can make dinner.”

Dee stared at Virgil, “I didn’t-”

“Yay!” Remus bounced over to them, throwing his arm over Dee’s shoulder. “Beef stew?”

Dee rolled his eyes and they both made their way over to the fridge. “If you wanted beef stew, Remus, you should’ve told me last night,” Dee said and Remus sighed dramatically.

Roman turned back to Virgil, freezing when he saw him undoing the buttons on his shirt. Virgil didn’t seem to notice as he shrugged off the shirt, revealing the black t-shirt underneath. Roman breathed out a tiny sigh of relief. He hadn’t seen Virgil shirtless since they were in highschool. And so, so many things had changed since then.

“I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable. And probably call my moms real quick,” Virgil said as he reached up and mussed his hair even more.”You really should get some rest, Ro. And maybe set up a doctor’s appointment? Your headaches seem to be getting more often.”

His voice was soft enough that Remus and Dee wouldn’t hear him over their bickering, but Roman could hear the worry radiating through his words. Virgil shifted in place. This was  _ really _ bothering him. He was right, of course. Roman used to get migraines maybe once a month, twice tops. But now, it was starting to feel like they were popping up once a week. It was interfering with his art and with his job. But it wasn’t like Roman could just curl up in bed and sleep them off every time he got one.

Roman reached out and caught Virgil’s wrist. “I’m fine, Virge, really.”

Virgil didn’t look convinced, but he gave a small nod. “We should watch something tonight,” he said instead of pushing it. “Just the two of us?”

“Yeah,” Roman smiled. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Roman let him go and watched him leave. He knew that he was going to back in maybe twenty minutes tops, but he almost followed after him.

He didn’t.

* * *

Watching a movie was always the plan. Talking all night was always the outcome. Roman never minded. He loved movies, sure. But they were the same things over and over again. But Virgil? Virgil was always something different. Roman had known Virgil for fifteen years and yet he still felt as though he was learning something new about him all the time.

He wondered if Virgil felt the same way. If Virgil had the same kind of awe when it came to Roman.

Roman loved talking to Virgil, but maybe he just wanted a different topic of conversation. Just this once.

“And his  _ eyes _ , Ro. They’re like crazy blue. Like fake contacts blue.”

Virgil continued to ramble on about Patton and- Oh wow, was he this far gone for a man he’d met once? Roman knew that it was supposed to be a good thing. Virgil’s last relationship had ended in tears and a week spent piled under blankets. Losing his job with the Andersons and their subsequent sabotage of his career probably didn’t help any. 

Honestly, Roman never liked Skander all that much. Not that he ever liked  _ any _ of Virgil’s boyfriends. But something, something about Skander had  _ definitely _ rubbed Roman the wrong way. And breaking up with Virgil when he probably needed him most? God, what a dick move.

Roman had been there. Had stayed by Virgil’s side. Just like he always had. Just like Virgil had always been there for him.

“Ro? Roman?” a hand waved in front of Roman’s face. “Earth to Roman Anakwan.”

Roman blinked and looked over at Virgil. Virgil’s eyebrows were furrowed and he’d tugged his skull-covered blanket tighter around his shoulders. “Hey, are you okay? You’ve seemed kinda off since I got home.”

“Sorry,” Roman shook his head with a smile. “I’m just thinking about a new project.”

Yeah, a project called “best man at my true love’s wedding”. Maybe he’d paint it only in purples and then maybe, just  _ maybe _ Virgil would finally get the hint.

Because as much as Roman wanted to plan some big romantic confession for Virgil, he really honestly just needed Virgil to get the hint. It was not a line he was going to cross by himself. Because if Roman lost Virgil, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Instead of relaxing, Virgil’s frown just deepened. He looked away and picked at a stray string on his sweatpants. In the background, the final fight from  _ Lion King _ played on. While Roman was usually thankful for background noise, it only seemed to make the atmosphere more tense.

“Did I do something?” Virgil asked, his voice quiet.

Roman nearly jerked away from him. He managed not to, instead choosing to look at Virgil with wide eyes. “Why would you think that?” Roman asked.

“If I did something, then I’m sorry,” Virgil said, still not looking at him. Roman realized he hadn’t heard him. “I don’t remember it. I can’t think of anything I would’ve done to upset you. But I’m sorry if I did. I just-”

Roman reached out and stopped Virgil’s fidgeting hand. Virgil let out a shaky breath, raising his gaze back to Roman’s face and immediately dropping it. “No,” Roman said, louder this time. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why are you shutting me out?” Virgil finally looked up at him fully. “I know when you’re lying, Roman. We’ve been best friends for fifteen years for fuck’s sake. I know your headaches are bothering you and I know something else is bothering you though I can’t figure out for the life of me  _ what _ . Are you having a block? Is something at work going on? Did you have a nightmare? Or do you just not want to talk to me?”

Roman’s eyes widened, panic spiking through his chest. Had Virgil honestly thought- He grasped Virgil’s hand a little bit tighter. “No, no,” he said. “I’m sorry. This isn’t- This is a  _ me _ thing, okay, Virge? I just need to work this out, on my own.”

He hoped that it would be enough to satisfy Virgil, but after a long moment, his friend stood. It caught Roman entirely off guard and he let go of Virgil’s hand without resistance. “Okay,” Virgil said. “I’m here if you need me.”

Roman almost smiled, but then in direct opposition to his words, Virgil also said. “I think I’m gonna go out. Enjoy my last night of freedom before I start with the Rothchilds. Night, Ro.”

He reached out and paused, hesitant, before setting his hand on Roman’s head. Then he turned and left. 

Again, Roman didn’t follow him.

* * *

When the front door slammed shut half an hour later, Roman still hadn’t moved. He managed to turn off the TV and pull his legs up to his chest. But he remained in the same spot, staring down at his phone. Staring down at his home screen.

Roman didn’t know where Virgil went when he went out. He hated clubs and bars and any super busy scenes like that so Roman seriously doubted that he went to any of those places. And, as far as Roman was aware, Virgil didn’t really have any friends outside of him, Dee, and Remus. But he always came back the next morning, looking a little less stressed and a little more happy, so wherever he went, Roman supposed it wasn’t a bad thing.

Maybe he just went to a late night arcade or something. Virgil liked arcades.

“Or maybe he’s fucking someone’s brains out.”

Roman jumped in his spot, his gaze whirling around to face Remus. His twin was grinning at him like a cheshire as he leaned against the wall. If Roman had to guess, Dee was asleep and Remus had gotten bored and decided to bother them. His plans were likely ruined when Virgil decided to up and leave.

“What the fuck, Ree?” Roman hissed.

Remus raced over and flipped onto the couch, his feet only missing Roman’s face because Roman jerked out of the way. The couch creaked under the weight. Neither Roman nor Remus were small men by any stretch of the imagination. He glared at his brother as Remus dropped his legs onto Roman’s lap. “Virge is def out gettin’ some booty,” Remus said, shimmying for emphasis.

“How would you know that?” Roman asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re ace. You’ve never even slept with a person before.”

Remus threw back his head with an obnoxious laugh. “What’s that got to do with anything, twinie?” he asked, tilting his head. “I’ve got two eyes and a nose.”

Roman looked at him incredulously. What the hell did having a  _ nose _ have to do with the possibility of Virgil out having a one-night stand. Roman’s chest clenched at the thought and he kinda sorta hated himself for it. He went out on enough late night escapades to fill a hotel ledger. Who was he to judge Virgil’s decisions? He was an adult.

It still stung.

“Soap,” Remus said.

Roman glared at Remus. “You need to stop fucking doing that. It’s creepy.”

“Not my fault I can read you like a dark children’s book with some weird underlying tones about murder or some shit.”

“What?”

“Look,” Remus tucked his hands behind his head. “Virge always comes back after these…  _ Rendezvouses  _ in a better mood and smelling like someone else’s soap. It’s pretty fucking obvious what he’s doing with his late nights, Ro. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Yeah, Roman didn’t want to admit that there was something he didn’t know about his best fucking friend. He did know one thing though. “Virgil  _ hates _ one-night stands,” Roman pointed.

“When the fuck did I say it was a one-nighter?” Remus asked. When Roman averted his gaze, his twin sighed and rolled his eyes. “Looksie, everyone on the fucking planet know that you have the hots for our resident emo.If you want him to yourself, just fuck him already.”

“ _ Remus _ ,” Roman screeched.

Remus threw his hands up into the air. “I’m sick of seeing y’all pining like a couple of lovesick teeny-boppers. Plus, it’d be super fucking funny to watch you be awkward as hell because you already live together,” he all but yelled before dropping his hands over his face. “Virge is my bestie too, idiot. And you’re my twin bro. I just want you two morons to be happy.”

“Did you just call me a moron?”

“Does it matter? Ro, for the sake of everyone on the fucking planet, either sort your shit out with V or just… Idk… Move on. Find someone to fuck more than once. All this sleeping around is probs driving you bonkers. You’ve always been one of those hyper romantic freaks. Or are you still  _ way _ too hung up over Donovan?”

Roman stiffened when  _ that  _ name entered the conversation. Remus’s eyes widened as he lurched up. “Fuck, sorry Ro.”

Remus didn’t apologize often, so Roman knew he was serious. He smoothed his hands over his pajama pants. “No, no, it’s cool,” he muttered before he slowly dragged a hand through his hair, working his fingers through the tangles. “And you’re right. It’s been two years. I really need to move on, if not with Virgil then with someone else.”

“You need to move at your own damn pace,” Remus said. “And if anyone says otherwise, I’ll fucking rip their guts out and-”

“Gross, Ree,” Roman said, cutting him off. “Really gross.”

Remus grinned at Roman again. “It’s what I do best, twinsie. Now, come on, let’s eat a bunch of junk food until we barf.”

“I don’t think Dee will appreciate that.”

“Ah, fuck Dee,” Remus said as he hopped up and pulled Roman up in almost the same motion. “As long as we don’t touch his Doritios then he ain’t got nothing to complain about.”

Roman nodded in agreement and allowed him to be dragged to the kitchen. And if they were still eating snacks when Virgil returned around three in the morning, it was never mentioned to Dee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. Virgil and Roman are best friends in this one. Bet you didn't see that coming. Or maybe you did. Idk. He was mentioned super briefly back in Chapter One.
> 
> Is their love unrequited? Who is Virgil seeing late at night? Will Roman confess his feelings for Virgil? Stay tuned!


	3. couldn't keep my eyelids shut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is restless and he only really knows one way to solve that problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just... A lot more pining...
> 
> TW: heavily implied sexual content, cursing, implied PTSD {?}, friends with benefits{ish} situation, unhealthy coping mechanisms, sleep deprivation, self-deprecation

Logan blinked down at the papers spread out on his coffee table, tapping the pen against his mouth. The gentle rhythm of the tap kept him focused. It also prevented him from chewing the tip of the pen. A horrid habit, to be sure. He was grateful it was one his parents had never noticed growing up.

After a long moment of not comprehending the graphs, he sighed. This wasn’t working. His mind was far from his work and far from any task like reading or watching a documentary. He’d already distracted himself with making dinner. Then with making coffee. Then with cleaning his bedroom and bathroom and kitchen. He already tried going through a practice lecture for the public one he was holding the next morning. He’d even tried grading papers, which was objectively, his least favorite part of being a co-professor at the university.

None of it had kept his mind occupied for long. Logan was restless and he knew it. He knew why, as well. Silly as it had been.

The student had merely dropped a piece of equipment. Logan  _ knew _ that. So why had it frazzled him so much? His therapist said that he was getting better.

“Better,” she said before adding with a stern look. “But it’ll never be gone, Logan.”

Logan also knew that. He acknowledged that fact a long, long time ago.

A shrill  _ bzzt  _ echoed through the house. Across from Logan, on his cat tower, Newton startled. Logan slowly let his hands drop from where he’d been pressing them against the back of his neck. For a brief, ridiculous moment, he thought it might’ve been his imagination.

It came again. The sound of the front doorbell.

Logan stood, taking a moment to rub his eyes under his glasses and adjust his tie. No need to look unprofessional for whomever it was. He undid the locks and pulled the door open the slightest amount.

“Hey.”

Logan took in a small breath, pulled the door open all the way. “Hello, Virgil.”

Virgil looked uncomfortable standing in the doorway, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. He stared down at Logan’s begonias with what was likely feigned interest. He looked small. Logan wasn’t sure he understood what his mind meant by that. Virgil was five feet five inches; he was objectively shorter than Logan. Therefore, he always looked smaller. But tonight, he just looked smaller than usual.

He moved aside and let Virgil in. Virgil took a moment to untie his boots and remove them. Logan waited until he stood back up to speak. “I thought you couldn’t come over tonight?” he asked, half signing the words as he spoke. Everytime he met Virgil, he wished that he knew more of the language, but he hardly had the time to learn it.

Or the need. Virgil tended to hear just fine in quiet spaces (like Logan’s house) and he was hardly over enough to warrant it.

Besides, they never did much talking.

“Plans changed,” Virgil said as he fiddled with the frayed edge of his sweater. “Sorry I didn’t call. You’re probably busy- I can-”

Logan shook his head. He reached out to touch Virgil’s cheek and Virgil fell silent. “No, it’s quite alright.”

Virgil leaned into the gentle touch, his eyes sliding closed as he let out an unsteady breath.

It  _ was  _ alright. More than alright. Logan was the one that originally asked him to come over anyways. Because if there was one thing that could distract him when nothing else could, it was Virgil Dowling.

Logan drew closer.

One, two, three soft kisses before they were tearing off one another’s clothes. Logan started to feel a bit more settled, a bit more in control of himself, as he came undone.

* * *

Logan wasn’t quite sure what time it was. He knew that he should’ve been asleep. That he had a lecture tomorrow that he couldn’t afford to miss.

He also knew that Virgil was still laying next to him. It was always a toss up of when he left. Right after? Hours later? Midafternoon the next day? Logan wondered if that was the allure of Virgil. He was so cautious, but also so unstructured. An anomaly to be sure.

“Why did you come over?” Logan asked, breaking the silence between them. If he remembered correctly (which he was positive he did), Virgil’s text from around suppertime had read:  _ Sorry, not tonight. Hanging with a friend. _

Which Logan was fine with. Virgil had no obligation to come over when Logan came calling. They were hardly even “friends” enough to fall into a “friends with benefits” category.

Even if they had been doing this on and off for three years. 

Virgil sighed, throwing his arm over his eyes. The light from the streetlamp spilled over his skin, highlighting the ink on his arms. Some of it spilled onto his torso. Logan tried not to stare. He knew what some of the tattoos were, if they stood for anything, but even Virgil would occasionally laugh and say, “Don’t know. Thought it was funny?”

After a moment, Virgil sat up. Logan stared up at him. Their arrangement was strange for most perhaps. Being so inexplicably vulnerable with a person you knew almost nothing about. 

The last time Virgil came over, it had been late into the night. His face had been tear-stained and he’d grabbed Logan’s arms with freezing, rain-wet hands. “Make me forget,” Virgil had rasped after Logan closed the door behind him. “I fucking hate everything. Just make me forget it.”

They didn’t sleep together then. Logan and Virgil sat by Logan’s front door and for a few hours, Virgil had just cried. Afterwards, Virgil explained that he’d broken up with his boyfriend of six months and that his former employers were apparently trying to ruin his life. The boyfriend part hadn’t surprised Logan. He was used to taking breaks from their arrangements whenever either of them had a romantic interest. The second part had been a little odd and, if was honest, after Virgil explained what had happened, Logan had been furious.

Furious on Virgil’s behalf. It wasn’t the first time Logan had felt some kind of strong emotion for the other man. Looking at him now, he also knew that it wouldn’t be the last.

Virgil dragged his knees up to his chest, stared at Logan’s wall. Logan slowly sat up as well. “Virgil?”

“My best friend is in love with me,” Virgil said after a moment. “He doesn’t think I know, but I do.”

Logan’s stomach felt tight. He loathed to call it jealousy. Virgil and him slept together, for comfort, for exercise, for relief, it didn’t matter why. It only mattered that it was all they’d ever done. They’d never been on a date. They’d never made food for one another. Or kissed each other just because. They were not, nor would they ever be, in a relationship.

They slept together and that was it. Even if Logan sometimes found himself wishing otherwise.

“Relationships are always stronger when you are best friends first,” Logan said.

“Is that quote?” Virgil asked with a slight upturn of his lips.

Logan let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, though the author’s unknown.”

“Poor author,” Virgil’s smile disappeared as quickly as it’d come. “And I know that. I know we’d probably make a great couple and I love him too but-”

He cut himself off and silence fell over them for several more seconds.

“But?” Logan prompted.

Virgil looked over at him, his eyes dark onyx in the dim light of Logan’s bedroom. Logan wanted to kiss him, but he was sure that Virgil would think that highly inappropriate given their current topic of discussion.

“He’s still working through some stuff,” Virgil said before he sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “And I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“Understandable.”

Logan didn’t say anything more. He wasn’t sure if that was the right call or not, but they didn’t come to each other for advice. They came to each other for a distraction. So Logan kissed his shoulder and pulled him away from the world.

Virgil left a little after two thirty in the morning. And Logan caught himself before he asked him to stay.

* * *

The coffee shop on the college campus was small and open 24/7. So, despite the exhaustion weighing on him, Logan went in at around six in the morning before the majority of students and faculty would start pouring in. There were three people in front of him and he took the opportunity to flick through his presentation one more time. It wasn’t until nine, but it was also the first presentation that Logan had opened to the public. He was, understandably, a little nervous.

“Heya, Specs.”

Logan looked up, a small bit of relief flooding through him. It was Roman this morning, thank goodness. It wasn’t that Logan hated the service of the other baristas, but if he was honest, he only really trusted Roman and Remy to make his drink correctly. And with his current state of cranky, sleep-deprived, coffee-deprived professor, he wasn’t sure he could handle a bad cup of coffee at the moment.

As proof of that, Roman already had a medium to-go cup in his hand. He grinned at Logan. “Your regular?” he asked.

“Yes,” Logan gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

The two of them fell into an easy conversation about Shakespeare. Neither of them were actors, (though from Logan could understand, Roman was an artist), but they both of them seemed to have a certain kind of love for the theater. It was nice, talking to Roman about it. His colleagues didn’t typically engage in that particular hobby and Logan had hardly any friends outside of them. 

Logan scrolled through his phones as they talked. Eventually, when he looked up, Roman was watching him expectantly.

“What?” Logan asked, worried that he had something on his face.

“Are you gonna pay?” Roman asked, his smile softening around the edges.

Logan ignored the way heat flared up to his face as he reached into his pocket. And groaned. He forgot his wallet. Of course. Of course. On a day like this too. Logan removed his glasses to run a hand down his face. When he looked back at Roman, he was still watching him with that gentle smile. “Forgive me, I forgot my wallet so I must forgo the coffee today.”

“It’s fine,” Roman said.

Logan’s eyebrows furrowed. “I assure you it is not. I-”

Roman laughed and shook his head. Frustration flashed through Logan’s chest. Logan didn’t cross his arms over his chest and stomp like a child, but it was a near thing. “I meant, your coffee’s on the house today, teach,” Roman said, already sliding over to the bar.

Logan stared at him in bewilderment for several seconds before he shook his head. “No, that is impractical. I don’t need-”

“You look tired as hell, Specs,” Roman said. He towered over the coffee machine. Logan had met his twin brother once, briefly, and was surprised that the men in their family could, in fact, get taller. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t even give you a proper tip,” Logan protested, his voice rising over the sound of the steaming milk.

“Give me a bigger tip tomorrow.”

“Roman, this is completely unneeded.”

But Roman was already holding the cup out to Logan over the bar. Logan gaped at it. And then gaped at Roman. He closed his mouth, hearing his mother’s words echo through his head about looking like a fish.

“I don’t like almond milk,” Roman said. “So if you don’t take it, it’s going into the trash. And then what a waste.”

“Roman,” Logan said again, exasperated, but after a moment, he took the latte and sipped at it hesitantly. It was perfect, as always. And he knew that despite his protests, he had definitely needed it. “I promise, this is just a one time thing.”

Roman just leaned on the bar and smiled at Logan. “Seriously, Specs, it’s fine.”

A sudden realization came over Logan and he kicked himself for just now noticing it. “Logan,” he said and Roman blinked at him in bewilderment. Logan looked down at his drink. “I’ve never introduced myself. My name is… Logan.” 

Roman smiled even wider. “Logan.”

Logan knew that he was probably blushing bright red. His father always did say he blushed like a girl. It didn’t help that Roman was, as always, exceedingly handsome with his long hair pulled up into a bun atop his head and his muscles looking like something out of a sports magazine. It was  _ ridiculous _ frankly.

Roman suddenly looked down and away and Logan startled, his gaze swinging over to the register. But there was no one in line. When he looked back, Roman was watching him consideringly. After a moment, he smiled again. “Do you want to go on a date with me?”

Logan blinked. Blinked again. Blinked  _ again _ . “What?” he managed to say.

Suddenly, Roman pushed back away from the counter, a nervous laugh on his lips. “No, sorry, that was- That was  _ dumb _ . Hitting on customers is not cool. Sorry, forget I-”

“That’d be nice.”

The words fell out of Logan’s mouth before he could even stop himself. Roman fell silent, his raised hands dropping and landing in his apron pockets. “It would be?” Roman asked.

“Yeah,” Logan gave him a faint smile. “Yeah, it would be. I’m, um, I’m free Saturday?”

“Really?” Roman brightened when Logan nodded. “Yeah, me too, um- Can I see your cup?”

Logan raised an eyebrow at Roman, but handed the cup over nonetheless. He understood why a moment later when Roman used his Sharpie to scrawl his number on it. He paused, bit his lip, and added something else before giving back. Logan stared at the sequence of numbers and the little heart next to it.

He felt a little lightheaded. In a good way. It’d been awhile since he’d been on an actual date. And Roman seemed nice. Maybe, maybe this time Logan could move past whatever he had with Virgil. He smiled at Roman and Roman smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um... Yeah. Honestly, I could probably just call this fic: everyone is in love with Virgil and then with each other. Because… That’s literally what it is.
> 
> Also, not sure if I made this clear, but: Logan does not know that Roman and Virgil know each other and vice versa.
> 
> Also, also, neither Virgil nor Logan have ever cheated on anyone. They don't sleep with each other when they're in monogamous relationships because they're not assholes. This story does end with a polyamorous four-way relationship, but polyamory and cheating are not the same thing and I will fight anyone who says it is or tries to use polyamory to justify their cheating ass. That is all. Bye-bye.
> 
> Oh! And you can come yell at me, talk to me, or interact with me on Tumblr: @felilla


	4. with shortness of breath, you explained the infinite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: pain mentions {Patton has an ongoing problem with his knee}, implied past child abuse, mentioned minor character death {it isn't tagged in the warnings because they never actually show up in the course of the story}, guilt over being happy

The lecture hall was bigger than Patton expected, easily able to fit between fifty to seventy-five people. And, as it would happen, it also had much better natural lighting. He adjusted his position on the floor in front of the first row of desks. His knee ached with the effort like it always did, but he stretched it out more and it felt a bit less terrible. He snapped a sample picture.

Queenie sat behind him, her tiny body dwarfed by the height of the desks. She seemed unbothered by this though. She kicked her legs lightly against the bench and tapped her pencil against the edge of her notebook. In a little over a decade, she would likely be in a similar position.

“When’s the lect- The lect-The  _ thingy _ start?” Queenie huffed out a breath of frustration.

Patton turned to her with a soft, patient smile. “Lecture,” he said. “Lec-ture.”

Queenie bit down on her lip before she said, resolutely: “Lec-ture.”

Patton’s smile widened, pride blooming in his chest. He gave her a nod and she grinned back at him. “When's the lec-ture start, Papa?” she repeated, leaning forward over the desk to keep her eyes on Patton as he shifted angles.

Patton looked down at his watch before leaning his head back to see Queenie. She giggled at his upside down expression. “In about an hour, sweetheart,” he said, his smile widening. 

Queenie hummed an affirmation before resuming her tapping. Patton huffed out a fond breath and shook his head. He leaned forward again to try another shot. The lighting would be different in an hour, of course, but Patton was notorious for spending a lot of time taking practice shots.

Patton was also notorious for having some of the best photography skills in the state. Well, in New York State. He’d have to try a bit harder to get that title in Oregon. He readjusted his glasses, took another shot.

“What are you doing?”

Patton blinked down at the sample. It was too blurry. He deleted it before reaching for his cane. It took him a couple of long silent seconds to stand and face the source of the voice. A wide smile crossed his face when he did. Queenie whirled around to follow his gaze.

The man stared down at Patton with a dumbstruck expression. He stood at the top of the sloped lecture hall, holding a coffee cup in one hand and a stack of folders in the other.

He looked no different to Patton. The black square frames were still perched on his nose. His dirty blonde hair was still tamed into a stylish and manageable look. He was even wearing a polo shirt and a tie. He was older, obviously, but Patton would recognize him in a crowd of hundreds, perhaps even a crowd of millions.

Patton’s smile widened as he limped up a couple of steps. “Hi, Logan! It’s been awhile.”

Logan took a slow, tentative step forward. And then another. His eyes were round, still that dark, dark blue Patton had loved so much. His eyes dropped down to Patton’s cane for the briefest second before snapping back up.

“Patton,” Logan started and Patton flinched back from his flat tone. “What are you doing here?”

A pressure pushed against Patton’s leg and Logan’s gaze dipped. Patton turned his stare down to Queenie, who watched the man with thinly veiled suspicion. “This is the professor, sweetie,” Patton said as he smoothed a hand over Queenie’s hair.

Queenie’s suspicion immediately vanished. She seemed to vibrate under Patton’s touch as a wide smile spread across her face. When Patton looked back up, Logan looked a little pale. “Lo-lo?” Patton asked softly.

Logan’s eyes snapped back up to Patton’s face. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the tight movement. “What are you doing here?” Logan repeated, his voice even colder this time.

Patton gripped his camera a little bit tighter. This was not how he imagined their reunion going. And boy howdy had Patton imagined their reunion a million times over.

After all, the last time they saw each other was when they were kids. Four days after Patton’s parents died and his entire world was tilted on its axis. He could still see Logan’s face in the car door window. See the tears in his best friend’s eyes. It was the first and only time Patton had even seen him cry.

“Papa?” Queenie tugged on Patton’s sweater, her expression bewildered. “Papa, are you okay?”

Patton rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t cry. Not for this. It seemed his body had other plans.

“Patton,” Logan stepped closer until he was nearly in front of Patton. He stopped just as suddenly.

“You made my Papa cry!” Queenie shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Logan. “And I was excited to see you lec-ture too! Big me-”

“It’s okay, Queen,” Patton stopped his middle daughter’s rant in its tracks. “Papa just cries sometimes, remember? It doesn’t mean Papa’s hurting.”

Queenie stared up at Patton. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and seemed to hold all the wisdom a seven year old could possess. “Can you wait for me by our stuff?” Patton asked softly. “You can talk to Professor Morton later."

She gave a small nod before she turned. She sat back down at the bench, but Patton could still feel her eyes on his back.

He smiled softly before turning back to Logan. Logan, who was watching him with an emotion somewhere between trepidation and relief.

Patton understood the feeling well.

“I’m here to take the pictures for your lecture,” Patton finally said, waving his camera a bit. “The university asked me to come.”

Logan gave a slow nod before his eyebrows pinched a bit. A surefire way to tell he was either thinking or confused. “You came all the way from New York for that?”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up before he giggled. He shook his head. “No, I live here now,” he said before he grinned. “I was super surprised to find out you live here too. Is this school’s astronomy program really that amazing?”

Logan moved like he was going to rub the back of his neck, but he paused. His hands were full. Patton tried not to be offended that he was looking literally anywhere except for at Patton’s face. “The program is adequate,” he said after a moment. And it was just like Logan to be so painstakingly honest. “It is the observatory that caught my interest however. This town takes great pains to ensure that the skies are as free from light pollution. It makes the stars that much more…”

Logan drifted off and Patton’s smile dipped when his childhood friend shifted in place. “I apologize, I am likely boring you,” he said.

“No. Not at all,” Patton fought the pained look that wanted to cross his face. But he was always terrible at hiding his emotions. Everyone that knew him for more than ten minutes knew that.

Logan seemed to take the expression in a wrong way because he just gave a small nod. He didn’t continue, his gaze instead shooting to Queenie over Patton’s shoulder. “Your daughter?” he asked.

Patton knew when to change the subject. He glanced back, laughing a bit when Queenie ducked down, trying to pretend like she  _ wasn’t _ listening in on them. “Yup!” he looked back to Logan. “I’d ask if you have any kids, but you’re still so young.”

Logan’s expression went from curious to annoyed in a split second. For most people, it was likely difficult to notice the change, but for Patton, even all these years later, it was as easy as reading a children’s book. Patton wondered, briefly, if his aptitude for understanding Logan’s expression was what made it so easy for him to read all of those around him.

“I’m a twenty-three, thank you,” Logan said, taking a perfunctory sip of his coffee.

“Just a baby,” Patton teased. 

He raised a hand to bop Logan’s nose, but the younger man flinched back. It was small, barely a blink of his eyes, but Patton saw it. And there was no mistaking the brief panic in Logan’s eyes. He dropped his hand. A flash of rage ripped through Patton’s chest. He’d forgotten just how much he hated Andrea and James Morton.

Logan cleared his throat before he carefully stepped around Patton. “Excuse me, I need to set up,” he said. There was the slightest waver to his voice.

“Of course,” Patton put on his brightest smile. “I promise I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Thank you,” Logan said. He paused on the last step. “And Patton?”

Patton whirled around. “Yeah, Lo?”

“It’s…” Logan’s shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. “It’s good to see you again.”

Patton’s smile softened around the edges. He didn’t say anything as Logan turned and started setting up.

* * *

The lecture lasted two hours. Patton managed to get some really good shots for the magazine (and maybe a few shots for himself to add to his photo album). As Logan took individual questions, Patton started to put his equipment away.

Queenie tugged on Patton’s sleeve. “Papa,” she said, tugging again. “I wanna talk to Mister Morton.”

Patton looked over at her and she stared back at him with wide, but determined eyes. She gave his sleeve one more tug. With a laugh, Patton raised his free hand. “Okay, okay, let’s go then.”

They seemed to be the last people in the lecture hall. As they approached Logan, he raised his head with a faint smile. It dipped a bit when he recognized them. Patton gave him a sympathetic look. Queenie just hopped in place. “Can I ask you a question Mister Morton?” she asked excitedly.

Logan’s smile was patient, but he obviously was expecting something simple like “what are stars made out of?”

His smile immediately dropped when Queenie started on some spiel that Patton absolutely did  _ not _ understand. Not in the slightest. He still felt more than a little proud of Queenie for catching Logan off guard though. Logan blinked a couple of times before he launched into an equally unusual explanation. 

Patton watched fondly as his daughter and his childhood friend volleyed questions and hypotheses and theories back and forth. Logan definitely simplified some things for her, but Patton was grateful that he wasn’t dumbing anything down. Their words made his head spin a little bit, but even if he couldn’t understand them, it filled his chest with warmth to see them both so excited.

A few minutes later, Queenie closed her notebook with a snap. She grinned at Logan. “Thank you! I really liked your lec-ture!” she immediately turned to Patton. “Can we go home now, Papa. I wanna tell Giselle all about it!”

“Giselle’s gonna be with her teacher when we get home,” Patton reminded her gently. Queenie pouted and crossed her arms over his chest. “But you can tell her all about it later.”

Queenie gave a long dramatic sigh. “Okay,” she bemoaned.

Patton looked back towards Logan, who had stopped packing up to watch them. He smiled softly at his childhood friend. “Hey, Queen,” Patton reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars. “There’s a vending machine right down the hall. Can you get everyone’s favorite candies?”

“Oh!” Queenie accepted the money before she gave Patton a mock salute. “I’ll do my mission dubifully.”

Patton didn’t see the need to correct her as she raced off and out the door. Patton watched her go before turning back to Logan, who was still watching him. “How old is she?” he asked.

“Just turned seven.”

Logan looked impressed. He turned back to his papers, stacking them neatly. “She’s very intelligent.”

“Yeah,” Patton smiled as he fiddled with the strap of his bag. “Reminds me of someone else when they were that age.”

The edges of Logan’s lips upturned. Patton counted it as a victory. “She’s going to go farther than I ever could,” Logan said. It almost sounded like a prayer or maybe a confession.

Patton’s eyebrows furrowed and he frowned. Why would Logan say that? He was twenty-three and already a co-professor for a university. Patton thought that he had gone pretty darn far. Leagues away from where he started in their tiny hometown in Minnesota. 

“Why do you think that?” Patton asked, his head tilting a bit.

“Because she has you by her side,” Logan said, his dark blue eyes meeting Patton’s bright blue ones.

Patton’s face warmed and he knew that he was blushing brightly, but what was new? He gave Logan a warm smile. “I have to go pick up my other daughter from preschool,” he said. Logan’s eyes widened a bit at the mention of another kid. “But we should keep in touch.”

“Yeah,” Logan reached for a pen and piece of paper. 

They exchanged info silently and once Patton had deposited the paper into his pocket, he looked back at Logan. “See ya, Logan,” he said.

“Goodbye, Patton.”

Patton had loved Logan when they were kids. Loved him more than he’d ever loved anyone else in his life. His neighbor, a scrawny boy three years younger than him, and the smartest person Patton had ever met. Patton had loved him so,  _ so  _ much.

There was no doubt in his mind, in that moment, that he still loved Logan Morton. 

* * *

Patton heard the skidding before a fluffy body plowed into his side and nearly knocked him off balance. His gaze dropped down to the dog staring up at him. “Lapis,” he greeted, patting her on the head.

“Lappy!” Wednesday shouted and she leapt forward and latched herself onto the dog.

“It’s  _ Lapis _ ,” Queenie grumbled as she moved past them. She adjusted the strap of her backpack. “Papa, can we have pasta for dinner?”

“Pasta! Pasta! Pasta!” Wednesday cheered from the floor where she was half laying on top of Lapis.

“Shh,” Patton pressed his finger to his lips. “Giselle’s still learning, remember?”

“Oh!” both of the girls exclaimed before making a zipping motion over the mouths.

“Pasta please, Papa?” Wednesday asked much quieter.

He nodded. “Yeah, of course. But first, homework for you little miss Queenie. And you need to pick up your mess in the playroom, Wednesday.”

They both groaned, but moved to do their assigned tasks. With his younger girls successfully distracted, Patton made his slow ascent up the stairs. He was a bit surprised to find the door to Giselle’s room open. Slowly, quietly, he peered in.

Giselle seated at her schoolwork table, bent over some worksheet or another. She didn’t notice Patton’s presence in the slightest and he let a faint smile cross his lips. It dipped when he noticed that Virgil was nowhere to be seen.

“Patton?”

Patton jumped in surprise, turning around to find Virgil holding two glasses of water. Virgil shifted in place. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I saw the girls downstairs. Can I help you?”

“I was just checking in,” Patton said with a warm smile.

Pink colored Virgil’s cheek as he ducked his head. “Would you like to see what we’re working on? I didn’t have a chance to go over the lesson plan with you before you left this morning.”

“I have to get started on dinner,” Patton responded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Right,” Virgil nodded. “Tomorrow then? I prefer going over everything with the parents.”

Patton bit down on his lip. He had another shoot the next day as well. He told Virgil that he worked from home, but that was only the majority of the time. And since he was still trying to establish himself, he was more likely to spend time out of the house than in. It was exhausting.

“That’s okay,” Virgil said, apparently reading Patton’s expression. “We’ll find time to do it.”

“No, no,” Patton rubbed a hand over his eyes.  _ He _ was exhausted. “No, um, how about you stay for dinner? We can go over it afterwards while the girls watch a movie or something?”

Virgil’s cheeks flushed even darker. He looked away and ran a finger up and down one of the cups. Fidgeting, Patton realized. He was about to open his mouth to reassure Virgil that he didn’t have to stay when Virgil gave a slow nod. “Yeah,” he said with a slightly too long exhale. “That sounds… That sounds good.”

Patton grinned. “Great! Is pasta okay with you? Spaghetti actually.”

“Sounds good,” Virgil agreed. “I should, um, get back.”

Patton moved to the side to let Virgil through. When he turned to look back again, Giselle caught his eye. She waved enthusiastically with a warm smile. “We’re learning about decimals,” she signed to him.

“That’s awesome. Tell me all about it at dinner,” Patton signed back.

Giselle smiled a little bit wider and Patton stepped back. He made his way down the stairs, patting Lapis as he made his way to his bedroom. He deposited the cane by the door before taking a moment to sit down on the edge of his bed.

He buried his face in his hands, putting pressure against his eyes until he saw white spots.. Next to him, Lapis whined, nudging at his arms. As he dug his fingers into her fur, Patton let out a slow shaky exhale. Guilt pooled in his stomach.

It wasn’t that he felt bad or sick or upset. He didn't feel overwhelmingly empty. He didn't feel like his smiles were fake or like his emotions were just masks he put into place to stave off everyone's concern. No, that wasn’t the problem anymore. The problem was that he felt good. Really, really good. Reconnecting with Logan. Watching Queenie light up over astronomy. Seeing that bright smile on Giselle’s face. It felt so, so good.

But Patton wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel good yet. If he was allowed to feel this happy, this light, and optimistic yet. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to smile without Aiden yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Who's Aiden? Idk. Well, I do know. But you don't. Or maybe you do. Who knows?
> 
> I was going back on and forth on which plotline to use with Logan and Patton, but this was the one that I settled on. Hope you all enjoyed!
> 
> Come interact with me on Tumblr: @felilla


	5. nothing washes, nothing grows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: implied parental death, talk of dyscalculia/dyslexia, implied pain, argument, depressive episode

Virgil was halfway between standing up to help Patton and awkwardly sitting in his chair. On one hand, Patton kept flapping his hand around, telling Virgil that it was  _ fine _ , that Virgil was the guest. On the other hand, Patton seemed genuinely exhausted. Every once in a while, for the briefest second, he paused to grab the edge of the counter. And then he was moving again.

Down the hall, Virgil could hear the faint sound of the opening song of  _ Tangled _ . The girls had taken to watching a movie surprisingly easily. Patton explained that they never shut up while watching movies. Whether it was signing back and forth or giggling over something, he’d never managed to sit through a movie without them chattering. Unless he took them individually, movie theaters were a big no-go.

So now Virgil and Patton were settled in the Rothschild kitchen. Virgil had already gotten out his stuff to go over the lesson plan. Patton was throwing everything into the sink, apparently determined to keep the kitchen as clean as possible. It was several long minutes before he all but collapsed into his chair. He slid a mug towards Virgil and the smell of lavender wafted up to him. He took a polite sip.

“Sorry,” Patton said before taking a sip of his own drink. “Lesson plan?”

He was still signing everything he was saying. Virgil perked up a bit. He shuffled some papers around and shoved them towards Patton. “ It’s basically Giselle’s curriculum. What she’ll be learning. Of course, since we have the added benefit of having only one student, we can rearrange as we need.”

Patton skimmed through the papers, raising an eyebrow at Virgil. “Rearrange?”

Virgil nodded. He pointed to the history section of the plan. And yeah, maybe Virgil wasn’t the  _ cleanest _ or  _ most organized _ person, but he had a system that worked for… Well, for just about everything. If he kept his keys in the same spot every time, he wouldn’t lose them. He used the same idea with his lesson plans.

“Giselle really likes history,” Virgil said. Patton hummed, more affirmation than question, and Virgil felt the edges of his lips twinged. He wasn’t used to interacting with parents that were so involved in their kid’s interests. “So we’ll probably, you know, get through it faster than, like, math.”

Patton frowned. “She had problems with math at her other school too.”

Virgil shuffled, looked down at the edges of her dress shirt. He  _ really  _ wished he was wearing something a bit more comfortable right now. Because it was spring and the house was just a  _ little _ warm. And yeah, maybe Virgil wanted to roll up his sleeves. He shook his head a bit, meeting Patton’s gaze. 

“I’m not an expert in it,” he started and Patton gave that slight tilt of the head that was just too cute to be natural. Virgil swallowed. “And I’ve only been teaching her for a day, but it’s possible that she has dyscalculia.”

“Dys-” Patton’s eyebrows furrowed. “Calculia?”

Virgil gave a small nod. “It’s kinda like… Dyslexia? But with numbers.”

“Oh!” Patton said, looking a little pleased at the explanation. “I have dyslexia.”

“Me too,” Virgil said before he could think better of it.

Patton’s gaze snapped over to Virgil, warm and curious. “And you’re a teacher? That’s amazing, Virgil!” he laughed a little, though it sounded a bit forced. “I barely managed to get through high school myself. My aunt was always a bit disappointed with my grades.”

Aunt? Virgil shifted, debating what to say in response to that. After a moment, he settled on. “I didn’t really care about my grades until sophomore year,” he said and when he looked up, he was startled to find all of Patton’s attention focused on him. He rubbed his hand up and down his mug. “It was really my english teacher that kicked my ass into gear.”

“Language,” Patton said, though it sounded more teasing than reprimanding. 

Virgil still flushed. He took a sip of his tea. “Honestly, I always  _ liked _ learning. It was just… Frustrating. And I think that’s why I gave up on it. But Mr. Turner, my teacher, he just…  _ Got  _ me. In a way no authority figure ever had. I guess that’s why I became a teacher.”

“So that you can get through to kids like he did with you?” Patton asked.

Virgil glanced up and Patton was still watching him with those intense bright blue eyes. It was… Weird. Virgil usually hated eye contact, especially with people he wasn’t particularly close to. But with Patton, it felt fine, maybe even  _ nice _ . Comforting. Even if Virgil wasn’t meeting that eye contact directly.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. And he knew they were getting so, so off topic, but if he was honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go home yet. He’d barely spoken a word to Roman since their- well,  _ fight _ was not accurate in the slightest. Their discussion? So, he kept the conversation off topic because he needed to kill some time and Patton seemed more than willing to talk. “What made you want to become a photographer?”

Patton’s smile shifted from interested to sad. But, as far as Virgil could tell, it was still genuine. Wistful, nostalgic maybe. “My mom was a photographer,” he said and Virgil didn’t miss the  _ was _ . “My dad was a journalist. It’s how they met actually. Always called it fate.”

“My moms met at the only gay bar here in town,” Virgil said with a small laugh. “Although Mom, um, Elora, she was from out of town, so I guess it was still kinda fate-ish, in a way?”

“I don’t know,” Patton looked a bit less sad, a bit more considering. Virgil decided that he very much liked that look, thank you very much. “I think maybe everything’s fate. I mean what are the chances that I would meet you through a barista?”

“You’d be surprised at the amount of networking that the baristas in this town handle,” Virgil replied, earning a small giggle from Patton.

They continued talking until the credits for  _ Tangled _ started rolling. And yes, that was after they finished the lesson plan talk. But if Virgil was honest, he felt like he could talk to Patton for hours more. It was an odd, pleasant, feeling, one that had only come with close friendships for him.

He liked it.

* * *

“It’s  _ very _ like you to miss dinner.”

Virgil flinched as he tried to quietly close the door. Of course he was found out before he even made it up the stairs. Of  _ course _ . It wasn’t like anyone was going to be asleep right now. Virgil knew that. Literally everyone in their little rented house was a night owl. Some (read  _ Virgil  _ and  _ Remus _ ) were more owlish than other ones, but the point still stood.

Virgil stepped into the kitchen. Dee sat at the table, nursing some kind of hot beverage. He looked rumpled, like he’d just woken up from a nap. In an old band t-shirt and a pair of dragon house slippers undoubtedly stolen from Remus. His hair was also a mess of dark curls, half dyed a garrish yellow. His heterochromatic eyes followed Virgil as he crossed the room.

It was a little bit awkward. Because out of everyone, Virgil least expected Dee to be out of his room.

It wasn’t that Virgil didn’t like Dee. He did. They were friends. But maybe he didn’t trust Dee as much as he trusted Roman and Remus. Which made  _ sense _ . He’d known Roman and Remus since they were ten when the twins had transferred into his class. At the time, their stories of  _ California _ had seemed so distant and magical. And the fact that they didn’t seem inclined to bully Virgil helped,  _ a lot _ .

Virgil had only known Dee for about four years now. Though Virgil supposed that wasn’t much of an excuse, he’d known Logan just about as long.

But Dee was  _ different _ . Maybe it was the way that he just saw through everyone’s bullshit in an instant. The way he saw through  _ Virgil’s _ bullshit in an instant. It just- It rubbed him the wrong way sometimes.

“Got held up at work,” Virgil explained though he shouldn’t  _ have _ to explain. He was a grown man. He could do what he wanted. “Sorry I didn’t call. I texted Roman though.”

Virgil started to take off his coat. Dee just watched him before turning back to his mug quietly. “If this is going to be a common thing,” he said after a long pause. “Then let me know beforehand. I  _ love _ making an extra serving for someone that’s not going to eat it.”

Virgil almost contested that Roman and Remus always ate extra servings, but he decided not to push it. Maybe Dee was just worried, in his own bizarre way. Instead, he just shrugged. "I'm sure it won't be that common," he said as he made his way over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of lemonade.

"You don't want it to be?" Dee questioned.

Virgil didn't turn away from the counter. He knew his cheeks felt warm. Dee hummed, clearly taking Virgil's silence as a response. "You know, Roman mentioned your employer to me. Patton, was it? So nice? Too nice?"

"Dee," Virgil sighed. "Don't go digging up stuff on my employer."

Dee was a journalist, but Virgil also knew that he could be one hell of a detective. After the Andersons outed Virgil, he had all but offered to destroy their lives for him. Virgil had declined, of course. The Andersons had more money than either See or Virgil could dream, which also meant that they had very, very good lawyers.

But that reminded Virgil. "Patton's father was a journalist," he said, his shoulders easing a bit at finding a topic that would distract Dee momentarily from… Whatever he thought was going on.

" _ Was _ ," Dee hummed and leaned back in his seat. “Interesting. Let’s see… Retired or deceased journalists with the last name of Rothschild.”

“I  _ really _ don’t want to know, Dee,” Virgil said with a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair. “Plus you’re probably gonna end up working with the guy at some point or another. There aren’t a lot of freelance photographers floating around her.”

Dee looked over at Virgil before quickly standing up. “Freelance photographer?” he moved towards Virgil, who startled back with a nod. “Patton… Is his last name Rothschild?”

Virgil should’ve known he’d said too much. He wondered if he should deny it. But, like he had said, Dee and Patton were bound to interact at some point. “Um, yeah?”

“Oh how  _ awful _ ,” Dee said, but Virgil knew Dee enough to know that his tone implied the opposite. “Patton Rothschild is well-known in the freelance world. Can you give him my card? I might need his help on my next issue because as we know, I am  _ incredible _ with a camera.”

Virgil blinked at the sudden influx of information then gave a small nod. Dee gave him a smile, one that was a little too wide and a little too predatory to seem kind. As he hurried off, likely to grab his card, Roman strolled into the kitchen. He narrowly dodged the one-tracked minded man.

“Dee’s more… Energetic than usual?” Roman commented before he turned to Virgil. His smile was a little strained, but genuine nonetheless.

“Apparently, he knows who Patton is and wants me to give him his card,” Virgil said. He finally undid the cap of his drink and took a long, sour swig.

He was surprised to find Roman still just standing in the kitchen. He played with a stray hair from his messy bun, something he only did when he was nervous. His hands were stained with paint, a smear on his cheek. Not to mention the mess his tank had become, though Virgil assumed that shirt was specifically for painting purposes.

“You good?” Virgil asked.

“Did you eat?” Roman questioned.

Virgil snorted. “That’s usually my question,” he said. When he looked over, Roman wasn’t smiling though. After a moment, he sighed. “Yeah, Patton made spaghetti.”

A pause. “Seems like you’re getting close.”

Virgil rolled his eyes and set down his drink. “We were talking about lesson plans, Ro. It’s part of my job?”

Roman’s gaze darted to the time on the oven. And yeah, maybe talking about work stuff until nine o’clock at night was a little bizarre. Vigil wasn’t about to admit that though, so he just crossed his arms. “What is up with you lately?” he asked, dragging back the conversation from the night before. “So what if I like Patton? Is that such a big deal?”

Virgil wanted him to say yes. He wanted Roman to just  _ admit _ that there was something between them. Something deep and fonder and more intimate than their friendship, something that erased that tiny invisible line that thinned more and more the longer he spent with Roman.

“No,” Roman shook his head. “I just want to make sure he’s not taking advantage of you.”

“ _ What _ ?” Virgil hissed.

“He’s the single dad of three kids, Virge. What if he’s just looking for like… A nanny or some shit? Or a bed warmer. Single dads get lonely sometimes.”

“What the fuck, Roman? Seriously?”

“Remember Christopher?”

Virgil was glaring now. He was glaring and he was a little- No  _ a lot _ angry. “I stopped working with the Jordan family  _ because _ of Christopher,” Virgil said. “You know that. Patton is not some closeted married creep, Roman.”

Roman looked at him dubiously. “How do you know that?”

“I just do!” Virgil groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Look, I’m not having this argument. It’s not like I’m even going to make a move on my  _ employer _ .”

He gathered up his lemonade and moved to go to his room. He tried not to full-on growl when Roman put a hand on his shoulder. But Roman just looked a little forlorn as he continued to stare into the empty kitchen. “What?” Virgil snapped.

“I have a date on Saturday,” Roman said.

And oh. Virgil swallowed, a pit settled in his stomach. He bit down on the inside of his cheek before shaking off Roman’s hand. “Have fun.”

* * *

It was Friday when Virgil knocked on the Rothchilds’ door and Giselle answered it. Everyday before it had been Patton and from Virgil understood, Patton didn’t like the girls answering the door. Patton had even made it known that he was having Virgil come over in a time between when he took Queenie and Wednesday to school and when he planned any events. It made his stomach twist a little seeing the fifth grader staring up at him.

He still went in and removed his shoes, absently patting Lapis on the head when she sniffed him. “Where’s your dad?” he signed.

“Papa isn’t feeling well,” Giselle signed back, pointing to the room down the hall. “He needed to stay home today. I think he’s asleep.” 

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Virgil asked. Did he have a cold? Flu? 

It struck Virgil that Patton didn’t have anyone in town to take care of him if he was sick. Virgil wasn’t sure if he knew  _ anyone _ in town, which was odd in and off itself. It wasn’t like they lived in a tiny town but it was a close knit town. It was uncommon for complete outsiders to appear.

Patton didn’t have parents or a Roman or even a Remus.

Virgil wondered if he ever had.

“Not sure,” she paused, biting down on her lip. “He gets like this sometimes. I can’t get him out of bed.”

That sounded  _ way _ too familiar for Virgil’s comfort. “What do you guys do when he’s like this? Who takes care of you?”

Giselle tilted her head, confusion blatant on her opened expression. “Papa does. He still takes us to school and orders us pizza for dinner. We just,” she shuffled a bit in place. “We try not to bother him. Wednesday is harder to make understand, but Queenie and I get her to sit still. In New York… In New York, we’d go over to our uncle’s house.”

Uncle? Virgil slotted that away for another time. Giselle was clearly worried, but she put on a small smile. As if it was all okay. As if this was all okay. Virgil swallowed down the discomfort in his throat, hoping that Giselle didn’t catch onto it. “Okay,” he said aloud before turning to Giselle. “Did you eat breakfast?”

“Yup,” Giselle smiled. “Cereal.”

“Did your dad?”

Giselle’s smile dipped. She looked contemplative before she shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

And Roman was worried about Patton making Virgil a nanny to the girls? Virgil dug around his bag and pulled out a test he prepared the night before to see where Giselle’s reading comprehension skills were at. “Why don’t you go take this test?” he signed. “And I’ll bring you a snack.”

Giselle didn’t seem to have any qualms about that as she took the test and hopped up the stairs. 

Virgil sighed and rubbed his eyes. He was way too tired for this. It was a little hard to sleep when his best friend’s room was next to his and he was so, so conscious of the fact that their entire friendship, their fragile friendship, was falling apart. He knew he was supposed to be happy. Happy that Roman was going on an actual date. Happy that Roman was finally moving on from Donovan. But the thought of Roman out with someone else- Well, it left a sour taste in his mouth.

But that wasn’t here or now. Virgil made his way into the kitchen.

He worked quicker than he thought he would. But, he supposed, spending dinner at the Rothschild house for the past four nights made it a bit easier. Patton had even let him help clean up the night before.

He didn’t really have an excuse to stay anymore. He gave a small update to Patton over after-dinner tea, but most of the time had been filled with talking about themselves, about life. He now knew that Patton was an orphan, that his parents passed when he was ten and he was raised by his aunt in New York. He knew that Patton preferred cats over dogs but he was actually quite allergic to cats (not to say he didn’t love Lapis, he was quick to amend, he  _ loved _ Lapis, but have you seen a kitten, Virgil, have you?).

The kindness that he first exhibited with Virgil hadn’t worn off. At all. Nor had it disappeared around the girls, who quite clearly adored their father. There was something…  _ Magnetic  _ about Patton. Something Virgil didn’t think Patton even noticed he had.

He didn’t have an excuse to stay after dinner. He didn’t have an excuse to notice all these things about Patton. He especially didn’t have an excuse to stay and watched a movie on Wednesday. Other than the fact that the little girl Wednesday had declared that it was “her” day so Virgil had to do what she wanted. And she wanted to watch a movie with him and Patton.

Virgil wasn’t even sure he had an excuse for why he was walking over to Patton’s bedroom door, some toast and a cup of tea in hand.

But he hadn’t needed one for the past week right? Maybe he didn’t need one now. He stopped in front of the door, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. This was  _ stupid _ . Patton was an adult. He could take care of himself.

But Virgil knew, probably better than most, that sometimes even adults needed someone to take care of them.

So despite the fact he thought he might start hyperventilating, he still knocked. When he got no response, he slowly pushed the door open. There was a lump on the bed, curled under a quilted comforter. Most of the pillows appeared to have been tossed on the ground. The curtains were drawn shut. “Patton?” he called out.

Patton sat up very quickly. So he wasn’t asleep then. After a moment, he pushed a hand to his head with a small groan. He squinted at the light. “Virgil?” he asked, sounding very, very confused. And honestly, Virgil would be too. 

He definitely felt like he was stepping on some boundaries here. He’d never done anything like this for any of his other employers. This was probably fucking creepy and- “Hey,” he said, voice only a bit wobbly. “Giselle said you didn’t eat breakfast so I brought you some toast.”

Patton slowly shuffled to the edge of the bed. He was clearly still dressed from taking Wednesday and Queenie to school in a pale pink hoodie and a pair of jeans. “You didn’t have to do that,” Patton said, signing sluggishly with one hand as the other scrambled around on his bed.

“It’s okay,” Virgil said as he moved a bit closer. He spied Patton’s glasses on the bed and reached out to grab them before holding them out to Patton. “Least I can do since you’ve been stuffing me for the past week.”

Patton shoved his glasses on. “Sorry, I look like a mess.”

Now that he was close enough, Virgil could see that Patton had definitely been crying. He decided not to comment on it, instead handing Patton the plate and setting the tea down on the nightstand. 

Virgil’s gaze lingered on the collection of photographs on Patton’s nightstand. Most of them were of the girls. One was a couple that Virgil assumed was Patton’s parents. His eyes stared at the photo of Patton with another man’s arm slung across his shoulder for a bit longer than necessary.

When he looked back, Patton was staring up at him with wide, shiny eyes. “You really didn’t have to do this, Virgil.”

“Like I said, it’s fine. You’re sick after all,” Virgil regretted saying that when Patton flinched slightly. He took a deep breath and stepped out of Patton’s space. “Do you want me to pick up the girls today?”

Patton twisted his plate on his lap, staring down at it. “Virgil.”

“It’s fine, Pat,” Virgil said, the nickname springing out before he could stop himself.

The faintest flash of a smile crossed Patton’s lips. After a moment, he nodded. “I’ll need to call the school to let them know,” he said, sounding as if every word cost all the effort in the world. He was still signing though. Virgil’s chest clenched. “But that would be really helpful. I promise I’ll get a system in place for next time.”

Next time. Virgil wondered when that would be. He spoke before he could stop himself. “And your therapist?”

Patton jolted a little, looking back up at Virgil. His eyes looked a bit shinier. And his expression looked a bit more understanding. Virgil just gave him a small nod. “I called Picani this morning,” Patton said. “I have an appointment tomorrow.”

Virgil was surprised to hear Picani’s name. Because that was  _ his _ therapist. But then again, it seemed like Picani’s personality probably meshed well with Patton’s. It also made Virgil feel better to know that Patton clearly had some kind of help. That he clearly cared about getting better. Virgil understood relapses and episodes. Everyone had them, even people who seemed as put together as Patton.

“Okay,” Virgil looked down at the tea on the nightstand before looking back at Patton, who was still watching him. “Text me if you need anything. It’s Friday, so Giselle’s mostly going to be taking tests today.”

Patton’s smile, tiny smile appeared. He dropped his gaze back to his plate. “I feel a bit better already.”

“I’m serious, Pat,” Virgil said. “I’m going to be bored out of my mind, so just let me know.”

“I will,” Patton said. Then, a bit quieter, quiet enough that Virgil likely wouldn’t have heard him if there was any other sound in the room. “Thank you, V.”

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips. “No problem.”

* * *

Patton didn’t end up asking Virgil for anything else. But he did apparently call the school like he said he would. Because when Virgil walked into the gymnasium to collect Queenie and Wednesday, they were completely prepared to see him.

Wednesday sprinted up and latched onto Virgil’s leg like she’d taken to doing since Monday. “Guess what I did today, Virgie!” she exclaimed, tugging a bit on his pantleg. “Guess what I did?”

“You can tell me in the car, Wednesday,” Virgil said with a small laugh.

Queenie was a bit more cautious, but she didn’t seem to perceive Virgil as much of a threat anymore. She greeted him with a small “hi”. A teacher came up with them. One that Virgil noticed. A small smile slipped onto Virgil’s face, but he startled a bit when the teacher gathered him into a hug.

“Long time no see, Virge!” Thomas Sanders greeted with a wide grin.

Thomas still had the same warm smile and general demeanor that he’d exuded in high school and college, it seemed. “Hi,” Virgil greeted, rubbing the back of his neck.

Queenie was watching the interaction with narrowed eyes. Wednesday seemed content to just bump against Virgil’s leg and hum to herself. She also tugged on one of Queenie’s hands, which the older girl seemed oblivious to.

“I didn’t know you were teaching at the elementary school,” Virgil said.

Thomas laughed. “Yeah, wasn’t the initial plan,” he said. “But I like it here. Are they yours? Haven’t heard anything about you and Roman adopting.”

“No, they’re-” Virgil broke off at Thomas’s words caught up to him. He said, a little choked, “Me and Roman?”

Now Thomas looked confused and then embarrassed. “Are you not- Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. You just-” he sighed with a small awkward laugh. “Sorry, Virge.”

“It’s…” Virgil exhaled shakily. If Thomas thought they were together, did everyone? No, that wasn’t likely, not within the town’s LGBT community anyways. And the Andersons had been positively baffled to find out he was gay, so… He pushed the thought away to freak out over later. “It’s fine. And no, they’re the kids of my employer. I’m a private tutor.”

“Oh!” Thomas smiled, though Virgil could still feel the awkwardness between them. “Look at us. Minding the molds of the young.”

Virgil decided to let that slip up pass. Instead, he took Wednesday’s hand and turned to Queenie. “Want me to take your bag?” he asked.

Queenie huffed, but handed it over regardless. Slinging it over his shoulder, Virgil turned back to Thomas. “It was good to catch up with you,” he said.

“Yeah,” Thomas said excitedly. “We should meet up for coffee sometime, maybe invite Logan. It’ll be just like old times.”

Virgil managed to just barely not flinch at the mention of Logan. Barely. Instead he just nodded. “Yeah, sounds good. See you around?”

“See you around!” Thomas repeated before diving back into the dwindling throng of kiddos.

Virgil let out a breath of relief. Queenie was still peering up at him suspiciously. “How’d you know Mr. S?” she asked as Virgil let her and Wednesday out of the school.

“We went to school together,” Virgil said. “We were both born here.”

“Really?” Wednesday said in awe. “I thought everyone came here like us.”

Virgil chuckled. “No, people are born here like they are everywhere else.”

“Why you picking us up, Virgie?” Wednesday asked.

“Papa’s not feeling well, member, Wednesday?” Queenie hissed. “So we’s gotta be super quiet when we get home. Sorry, Mister Virgil, she usually goes right to Uncle’s house when Papa isn’t feeling all that good. She’s not used to this.”

No one should have to be used to this. Virgil decided to change the subject. “Come on,” he said. “Giselle’s waiting at home and you have to tell her all about your day.”

That seemed to significantly distract the girls and they pulled him along towards the parking lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, that was... A chapter. Might just be venting a bit. Hope you all liked it. The next chapter is Roman and Logan's first date! Whoo!
> 
> You can come talk to me or yell at me or anything really over on Tumblr: @felilla

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Some little notes for anyone wondering:
> 
> Patton is Jewish (additionally, Giselle is African American and Queenie is half Japanese). He is 26 years old (Giselle is 10, Queenie is 7, and Wednesday is 4).  
> Roman and Remus are Polynesian (neither of them have ever been outside of the US). They are both 25.  
> Virgil is Korean. He is also 25.  
> Logan is originally from Canada. He is 23.  
> Dee is 28 if you're wondering.
> 
> I think that's all for now. Feel free to follow me on my Tumblr @felilla. Bye!


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